


a clear and certain conviction

by ProfessorSpork, theseerasures



Series: a ring in chase of you [3]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, F/M, Idiots in Love, Multi, Past Abuse, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Queer Themes, References to Shakespeare, Theatre
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-04-15 01:15:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4587462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProfessorSpork/pseuds/ProfessorSpork, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseerasures/pseuds/theseerasures
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "but sweet kisses i've got to spare." A college au in which Steve and Peggy are finally dating, and they're also definitely both dating Angie, only it's hard to find time for it with all the student theater they're doing. And keeping it from their friends is... perhaps harder than they thought.</p>
<p>Cartinelli Week, Day 7: Modern AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back to college au! I know it's not strictly cartinelli once I add Steve in, but this is the only modern au I could imagine writing. Title pulled from A Doll's House.

She's not proud of it, but Peggy's thoughts as they pile into Bucky's car at the airport—she, Steve and Angie jamming together in the backseat with her in the middle, which makes Bucky grumble about being treated like a chauffeur—mostly consist of  _there needs to be so much more kissing._ Her body is positively thrumming with energy, truly awake for the first time in two months. All she wants to do is touch, mark, take, make up for the time she's lost.

But she can't; not yet. Howard suspecting is one thing, but making out while Bucky can watch them in the rearview is quite another. She doesn't know how they're going to explain this situation to their friends. Come to think of it, they've barely explained it for themselves. So she supposes that waiting, while currently torturous, is the right thing to do.

In the meantime, Peggy plays with the hair on the back of Steve's neck while he traces patterns on her knee with his fingertips—which is maddeningly arousing, if she's being honest—while Angie holds Peggy's other hand in both of hers, every once in a while stroking absently at Peggy's knuckles with her thumbs. They make small talk about their families and travel and their classes for spring, but none of it really registers.

After Bucky's dropped them off at Peggy's dorm and her suitcases are safely inside, they hightail it across campus to Angie's single, where their privacy is assured—no mysterious Russian suitemates, no Colleen. Just the vague threat of Sarah on the other side of the wall, whom Peggy thinks could frankly use a taste of her own medicine. Peggy's barely walked in before Steve has her up against the door, kissing her needily while she moans into his mouth. He pulls at her peacoat, undoing the buttons, but leaves the scarf when he realizes he can't get it off unless he stops kissing her. Her instinct is to get as close to him as possible, wrap her legs around his waist and let him hold her up, but he's such a wee thing—she'd probably crush him, which would rather ruin the mood.

When they break apart, Peggy looks over Steve's shoulder to see Angie sitting on the bed, winter layers off, staring at them like—like—

"Darling, what is it?" Peggy asks, because Angie is  _crying,_ and the whole point is that they're past this now, kissing Steve isn't supposed to hurt her anymore, so why—?

Angie laughs, rubbing away her tears with the heels of her hands. "It's nothing," she insists, but her voice is uneven, and it's  _not_ nothing, it's—"It's just that I'm not used to, um." She swallows, then smiles, beatific. "To getting what I want. Like this."

" _Angie,_ " Steve chokes, but Peggy is already on it: across the room and kneeling before her, hands palming her knees, stroking up her thighs and back down. Soothing. Sure.

"Always," Peggy swears as Steve sits next to Angie on the bed, wrapping her up in his arms, kissing her shoulder. "We'll  _always,_ we'll…" She doesn't know what she's promising, exactly, she just knows that if she can't get Angie to understand she'll have failed spectacularly.

"I know, I know you will, that's why I—" Angie loses her train of thought when Steve kisses her lips, instead, and Peggy is entranced. This is nothing she hasn't seen before, but for the first time she's not three thousand miles away, not five hours ahead, not trapped on the other side of a screen. There's an ease to the way their mouths move together, an implicit choreography that her kisses with them have lacked, but it will come with time. And she's more than willing to put in  _hours_ of practice, if that's what it takes.

"Gimme a sec," Steve says against Angie's mouth before pulling back to actually take off his parka. Peggy takes the opportunity to poach Angie from him, yanking her down off the bed and into her lap.

"My turn," she says, and judging by the delighted noise that comes from the back of Angie's throat when Peggy kisses her, Angie has no complaints. The weight of Angie on top of her is so warm and welcome to Peggy that she can't help but moan in return. She slips her hands into Angie's back pockets and squeezes, smirking into Angie's mouth at the way she jerks at the sensation.

"Christ," she hears Steve croak from the bed, which only makes her more smug.

He joins them on the floor, and eventually their fevered need for closeness is sated enough that they  _finally_ have their talk—peppered, of course, with the occasional lazy kiss. Or two. Or ten.

They decide that they are, all three of them, officially dating each other… though that's not something their families or friends need to know just yet, in case anything goes wrong. (Angie makes them pinky promise to remain friends over all else, which Peggy finds both adorable and disappointingly pessimistic). Mostly by necessity, they agree that pairing off is not a problem, but graduating past any "previously established physical milestones," as Peggy puts it, requires a three-person consensus—which can be provided via text as a last resort, but preferably with all of them present.

"Should we all spit into our hands and shake on it?" Angie jokes, when it's all over.

Peggy wrinkles her nose in distaste. "How vividly American."

"Admit it, you totally dig our rowdy colonist vibe," Steve teases.

Peggy hides her face in Angie's clavicle to disguise her smile. "Never." Steve laughs and settles in on her other side, and for a long while they stay like that, just soaking in each other's company.

"Hey, Peg," Steve says, breaking the silence. "Stay on this side of the ocean for a while, would ya? It's not the same without you."

"I promise. In fact—I never wish to be parted from you from this day on," Peggy says into Angie's neck.

Angie bats at her. "Oh, come on. The 'you have bewitched me, body and soul' speech? If you're gonna woo us, do it with quotes from the actual book."

"Yeah, Mr. Darcy, woo us," Steve chimes in.

Peggy huffs. "See if I try and be romantic again."

* * *

The only problem with having Steve and Peggy in her room, Angie thinks, is how empty it feels after they leave.

* * *

It's a bit of a culture shock, having classes start up again after so long away. Peggy finds herself jealous of Angie and Steve for reasons different from the usual—they, having just taken classes at intercession, hardly seem fazed by it at all.

Presiding over the first SSR meeting of the semester is a welcome relief, midway through the week. Though she'd never admit it, Peggy really does like the feeling of being in charge. It keeps her grounded; helps her focus.

"Have you finished the cut of  _Bloody Margaret_?" she asks Sousa, once everyone has settled in.

"Yeah, the script will go out on the listserv tonight, and I've reserved space for auditions Tuesday and Wednesday next week."

They discuss logistics for a while, budgetary concerns and whether they should ask people to print their own scripts or if they should apply for a copier code at the student center again, which degenerates into an argument over whether printing out scripts at all is 'lowkey ecoterrorism.' Peggy tries to be annoyed by it, but she finds herself driven to distraction every time Angie shifts her weight or Steve fidgets. They've  _always_ sat on this couch like this, it would have been suspicious not to, but… she can feel the body heat radiating off them, and it's maddening.

"Perhaps we can ask if Cat's Meow is willing to share their copier code with us, they must need one to print their music—"

" _Really,_ Jarvis?" Peggy asks testily, then yelps and jumps to her feet when she feels a placating hand come down on each of her knees. It's a move Steve and Angie have pulled a thousand times before, both together and separately, but she's been aching for them to touch her all night, only they  _can't._

And now everyone is staring at her.

"Didn't know you were ticklish, Pegs," Howard comments with a raised brow.

Peggy's mouth works, only nothing comes out. Behind her, Steve and Angie sit in alarmed, helpless ( _unhelpful_ ) silence.

"You didn't?" Colleen says, perhaps two seconds too late to be fully believable. "You should try living with her. She almost punched me in the face when I 'put a blanket on her wrong.'"

"That was one time!" Peggy protests, retaking seat with a huff, and the conversation resumes.

And if Steve and Angie have each inched a few inches away, she can't say she blames them.

* * *

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she's babbling ten minutes later, when the meeting adjourns and all three of them come to the unspoken agreement that spending an hour in the same room while  _not_  kissing is more than enough, thank you. "I just—your hands, and I panicked—"

"S'okay," Steve grunts as he kisses Peggy so enthusiastically on the lips that he nearly backs her into the rack of mops behind them. "S'fine."

Peggy feels Angie snicker in the middle of… whatever she's doing with Peggy's right collarbone before she taps Steve on the shoulder. "Switch?"

He seems more than happy to oblige, and then it's  _Angie_  kissing her so hard that something or a dozen things clatter onto the floor.

_There go the mops_ , Peggy thinks absently, and then has to bite down the urge to burst into hysterical laughter and kill the mood completely. It's just—it seems absurd that they're necking in a bloody janitor's closet like a couple of fifteen year olds. She's seen enough of  _Grey's Anatomy_  with Colleen to recognize that this is maybe just something Americans do, but honestly the concept's never been very appealing until…

Well, she supposes anything can be appealing once you've found the right partners.

"Maybe we should come up with a new seating arrangement during meetings," Steve suggests, and Peggy frowns into Angie's lips. She might never be able to stop kissing Steve, if he's going to use his mouth to say such unappealing things when she's not claiming it for a higher purpose.

Angie, however, is smiling into the kiss. "Does that mean I get to be in the middle?"

"You're not even an officer," Peggy protests. "And I  _like_ being in the middle."

"I dunno, maybe we should try it," Steve says, and Peggy gasps as suddenly Angie's pushed that much closer to her, Steve's weight pressing Angie into her from behind. He starts kissing at the back of Angie's neck; Peggy actually  _feels_ Angie's knees go weak, and redistributes their weight to catch her on her thigh. "There are some bonuses to an Angie sandwich," he concludes.

Angie squeaks in protest when Peggy bypasses her face entirely to kiss Steve over her shoulder instead.

* * *

"Drink it, drink it, drink it, drink it!" Colleen cheers, and Angie watches with amusement as Peggy gulps down the last of her coffee. She shouldn't really be hovering over their table so much—even if the L&L is never that busy before 10 AM, because most kids don't want to get up early for a sit-down breakfast before class, it's the principle of the thing.

But hey, Peggy's leaving. Angie'll move in a sec.

"Six minutes to get across campus. Wish me luck!" Peggy says, wrapping her only half-finished bagel in a napkin and standing to leave. "Have a good shift, darling."

"Have a good class," Angie echoes back, and they stare at each other for an awkward moment, wanting to kiss goodbye but unable to do so in front of Colleen. Peggy smiles instead, giving Angie a wink before darting out the door.

Colleen sips at her own coffee. "Ten bucks says she slips on ice and tries to act dignified about the bruise."

"I see that bet, and raise you five that she'll still make it to class on time if she does."

"Oh, you're so on."

Angie looks over her shoulder to make sure her shift manager's not watching, then slips into the booth to take Peggy's spot. "Oh man,  _sitting._ I'm only an hour into my first shift of the year and I've already forgotten what it's like to sit."

"Better get used to being on your feet, hon. The footlights won't strut themselves."

Angie groans and puts her head on the table. "Don't remind me."

"You're not excited for open auds?"

She is! … kind of. The theater department, rather than splitting auditions by production, saves time by having all the shows going up pick from one pool where everyone tries out, writing down their play and role preferences on their sign-up sheet. In theory, it's more efficient this way… but it also means you only get one shot to look good in front of  _everyone in the department._ And if you screw that up…

"I'm gonna end up in someone's sound booth, I just know it."

"What? Don't talk like that. You came into SSR auds last fall a complete stranger, and you walked out with  _Viola._ Don't sell yourself short, Ange. You're a great actress."

"That was different. You guys welcomed me in like family. The kids in my theater classes, though? They'd slit my throat and step over the body if they thought it'd get 'em closer to top billing."

"Good thing they're not the ones casting, then," Colleen says, putting on an encouraging smile.

"Angie!" her boss hollers from the kitchen door, "people are waiting to be seated; what are you doing?"

She scrambles to her feet. "Crap! See? I'm missing cues already."

"You're such a drama queen!" Colleen laughs at her retreating back.

* * *

Normalcy sneaks up on the gang despite their best efforts. On the bright side, it only takes a week of classes to realize everyone's schedules intersect on Tuesday afternoons—and  _only_ Tuesday afternoons—just long enough that they can have lunch together at the dining hall.

"How was the first meeting of SHIELD?" Howard asks as he drops his tray. "Sorry I missed it; I lost track of time in the lab."

Angie's eyes flit to Peggy automatically, but she doesn't seem at all affected by the topic of conversation.

"It went about as well as any first meet," Bucky says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're renaming the acronym."

The table fills with groans. "What,  _again?_ "

"Show 'em, Steve."

Steve digs out his notebook, flips it to a page and holds it up for everyone to see. In hilariously official-looking letters, he's made a new logo:

**S** **o,**   **H** **et**   **I** **sn't**   **E** **xactly** **L** **egit?** **D** **iscuss.**

"It… it's beautiful," Howard gasps, putting a hand in front of his eyes as though he can't stand the majesty.

Bucky cuffs him lightly on the head. "Oh yeah? Beautiful enough to tempt you away from lab next week?"

Howard responds with his most winning smile. "Aw, Buck—I knew you cared. Though," his expression suddenly turns calculating, "If all you lovely people  _do_  want to spend more time with little old me, there's always—"

" _No_ ," everyone around Angie says in emphatic chorus. She blinks.

"Howard, we've been over this a million times," Peggy says, "We're not interested in whatever—outrageous scenario board game you've come up with, and—"

"I didn't come up with DnD," he protests, looking outraged, "I mean, I wish I did, but even I don't have that gift. Probably. It's a form of gaming that's been codified for almost two decades now, and today at lab I came up with an awesome campaign—"

"—we haven't the time," Peggy finishes.

"I have the time," Howard points out mulishly. "And I'm taking four lab classes. And doing grad research."

"…Fine. It's not a priority for the rest of us, then."

"I tried playing and I died," Gabe interjects, "Party of six, and of course the black guy gets capped first."

Howard whirls on him. "I don't control the  _dice_ , Gabe!"

Angie raises her hand, partly to diffuse the tension—it seems like Gabe is raring to argue more. "Wait, so—people actually play Dungeons and Dragons? In real life?"

Everyone around her groans while Howard beams at her. "Angie, I'm  _so_  glad you asked."

* * *

It takes Steve a while to re-orient himself back into stage manager mode; technically, this is what he prefers to do, but after spending the whole of last semester on a stage, letting himself sit and watch other people act feels a little strange.

"Thank you, Janet," Daniel says from his right. "Next is… uh, Howard?"

Caught in the spectacle of Howard somehow managing to moonwalk onto the stage while carrying a prop-hump bigger than he is, Steve almost misses Angie sliding into the empty chair on his left. "I miss anything good?"

"Just Janet's Anne Neville," Steve replies, frowning. "I thought you were working on your Nora monologue?"

Angie shrugs, eyes fixed on Howard as he starts in on his rendition of Richard III's opening soliloquy. "Got antsy, didn't want to skip out on… well,  _this_."

She gestures at Howard, who's practically bouncing off the floor in an effort to chew as much of the imaginary scenery as possible.

"Uh huh," Steve says, exchanging a wry look with Sousa, "This, by the way, is why he's  _usually_  in the sound booth."

"You kiddin' me? Most people have to pay for entertainment this good."

"He wouldn't actually be bad if he dialed it down a notch," Daniel murmurs, and then winces when Howard tries for a particularly low and menacing growl only to end up coughing. "Or...maybe twelve notches. Nice one, Howard!"

Howard bows—of course he does—and exits the stage with remarkably little fanfare. Steve breathes a sigh of relief. "Right. Next is…?"

"That would be me, actually," Peggy says, trotting onto the stage.

Steve turns to look at Angie suspiciously. "Antsy, huh?"

"I've never seen her act before; so sue me," Angie shrugs.

Peggy stands stock still at the center of the stage, shoulders back, looking tall and steady and somehow venomous. Ready to strike.

"Whenever you're ready," Sousa prompts, and her eyes snap open.

"Brave warriors, Clifford and Northumberland, come, make him stand upon this molehill here—"

Angie's jaw drops.

Steve keeps his focus on Peggy's performance—honestly, it's hard not to, the way she utterly commands the stage—but he can't help but smirk at the look on Angie's face he keeps catching out of the corner of his eye. He's never seen her so thirsty.

Angie actually gasps when Peggy manages to get a laugh from the crowd—the right inflection as she references  _that valiant crook-back prodigy_ on the heels of Howard's off-the-wall recital comes off supremely clever. Sousa just looks smug as hell, and Steve can't blame him. They let her do the whole thing, the crowd whooping when she steamrolls past the line limit Sousa had asked for—the paper crown—and finishes the monologue with a vicious, unexpected cackle.

"Jesus Christ," Angie mumbles under her breath.

Steve agrees.

* * *

"How long do you think we can keep this up?" Peggy asks quietly that night.

Steve frowns at the question; Angie, for her part, mumbles a little in her sleep.

After auditions, the three of them had gone back to Peggy's suite, ostensibly to do their homework. That had lasted only until Angie stretched out on the couch and put her head down in Peggy's lap and Steve, through some enthusiastic gesticulations and silent mouthing, had gotten Peggy to start running her fingers through Angie's hair. Peggy could see why—almost immediately, Angie'd gotten what Peggy's parents have always called 'the long blinks,' her lids drooping and struggling to stay open, her contributions to the conversation becoming increasingly nonsensical and fewer and farther between until she drifted off. Peggy wonders just when over winter break Steve had learned this particular party trick; wonders how many other little facts about each other they're all storing away.

"I didn't realize you were thinking about us with an end date," Steve says carefully, and she shakes her head.

"Not this, us. This… this. Sneaking about," she clarifies, with a pointed look towards Colleen's closed door. Their pose is tame enough to be excused as platonic, and at the volume Colleen tends to play music while she works there's little chance of being overheard, but they're hardly into February and Peggy already feels the strain.

"I dunno. As long as we feel like we have to, I guess. I was thinking about, um. Doing a seminar on poly stuff, in SHIELD. Or at least pitching one to Bucky, see how he reacts."

"Not a bad idea, but I know I needn't remind you that not all of our friends would go to such a thing, even if you did make it happen."

"I know, I know." He picks at a loose thread in the carpet. "I thought I'd be more fun. Having a secret. Instead it just feels dishonest."

Peggy brushes back Angie's curls. " _She_  seemed to think having too many people know too fast would put pressure on us."

He chuckles. "She also seemed to think that we're in imminent danger of not being friends anymore if someone's feelings get hurt, so maybe we shouldn't have let her be the deciding vote."

"You guys talkin' about me?" Angie slurs sleepily, not even bothering to pick her head up.

"Only good things, darling."

"M'awake, y'know. I can… hear ya…" she adds, burrowing her face deeper into Peggy's thighs. Peggy blushes at the sensation, glaring at Steve when he catches her out.

"Of course you are, darling."

"…Got hearing like… bat… fox… powers… an'… an' my… duck."

' _Her duck?'_  Peggy mouths at Steve, baffled.

He reaches out to sweep some hair away from Angie's closed eyes, trying ineffectually to get her attention. "Matt Murdock, baby?" he guesses. Peggy feels a tiny thrill down her spine—Steve almost never uses pet names. It's… more attractive than she thought it would be.

"Duh," Angie says, and they laugh so hard they wake her up.

* * *

Both Peggy and Steve are busy during her audition time later that week, so Angie's really not expecting anyone she knows to be actually present—which, hey, doesn't have to be a bad thing; at least they won't be there to see her monologue fall flat.

When she walks into the auditorium, though, she sees two familiar faces anyway. "Bucky?  _Colleen_?" she asks, wincing when she's immediately shushed by several observers. On stage, a freshman is stuttering her way through an excerpt from  _The Vagina Monologues._

Bucky shrugs from where he's leaning against the wall, whispering, "Steve told me to come, give you moral support."

"And Peggy sent me," Colleen agrees dryly, tapping at her phone, "Their explicit instructions were for us to support you  _together_ , and not to make it weird."

"Gee, I feel so loved," Angie deadpans.

Colleen shrugs. "I don't make the rules. Any support I might have wanted to show you by myself is, apparently, immaterial. I am only a Peggy-proxy."

"The accent could use work."

"I'm not the one auditioning."

Bucky rolls his eyes at them and gives Angie a nudge with his elbow. "Hey Superstar, you'll miss your turn."

Angie startles and makes her way towards the front, checking her watch as she goes. She's still early for her bloc; she's got some time to settle in and prepare herself.

"Looking good, Angel."

Or not.

Angie tries and fails to suppress her groan. "How many times, Thompson? Don't  _call_ me that."

People in the audience shush her again. Embarrassed, Angie throws herself into the closest seat available… which unfortunately is right in front of Jack Thompson's.

Her back is to him, but she swears she can  _feel_  his smirk. "You know the deal. You call me Jack, I'll call you whatever you like. 'Course, it'd be easier to call you if you'd give me your number."

"Smooth," she mutters through clenched teeth. Thompson had been a lowkey nightmare in her Movement class last semester—a little too handsy, but all protected under the umbrella of being part of their assignments. She'd hate him less if he didn't have the talent to back it up, but he's the theater department golden boy for a reason.

She should have realized he'd be here.

He waits until the freshman on stage finishes, then leans forward when his voice can be masked by the lackluster applause. "So what show are you going out for?"

"A Doll's House," she says, knowing there's no use in lying to him.

"Hey, me too. Who knows; maybe we'll get cast together."

That would be just her luck.

* * *

To Peggy's delight her class ends early enough that she can grab a coffee (well, two) and wait for Angie in front of the Drama building. She figures she's ready for pretty much any Angie to walk through the doors: celebratory Angie, distraught Angie, anxiety-ridden Angie…

The Angie that exits the audition catches her off guard, however; she just seems… preoccupied. "Angie!"

Well, the smile that flashes across her face when she sees Peggy—that  _has_ to be a good sign. "You ditched class just to get me coffee?"

"Fry let us out early," Peggy says, handing Angie her to-go cup and taking Angie's messenger bag in return, throwing it over her own shoulder. She ignores Angie's pointedly amused glance and starts walking them in the direction of Angie's dorm. "How was the audition?"

There's that preoccupied look again. "Oh I mean, it was…"  _Horrible_ , Peggy guesses.  _Amazing. Enchanting. I tripped over an umbrella stand_. "I think it went okay—the director said he 'liked the undercurrent of subservience,' whatever that means, but… better than I thought I'd do."

"Exactly as well as  _I_  thought you'd do, then," Peggy says, bumping Angie lightly on the shoulder. She frowns when Angie only offers her a faint smile. "So what's wrong, then?"

"Nothing, just…" Angie sighs, and then takes long sip of her coffee. "You know Jack Thompson?"

She can almost  _feel_  her blood pressure rise. "That utter wanker who kept harassing you last semester?"

"He didn't harass me, he was just…" Angie sighs again. "He auditioned for Torvald, just now."

"He  _didn't_."

Angie nods glumly. "Did. Nailed it too, if his little smirk's anything to go by."

"He can't have been the only one, certainly."

"I guess not, but now I can't stop thinking about it. Like. Do I even  _want_ to be Nora, if it means spending every day with him?"

Peggy abruptly stops walking. "Don't say that."

"It's an honest question."

Peggy wants to reach out, to grab Angie by the chin and  _make_ her look her in the eye, but they're surrounded by people and it's just…

She claps Angie on the shoulder instead. "You cannot allow yourself to think that way. You deserve this. The way you're doubting yourself, how you're considering taking yourself out of the running? That's what he wants. You mustn't let him win, darling."

"You sound like Steve."

"Yes, well. I suppose there are worse people to sound like," Peggy says with an indulgent smile.

Angie takes a deep breath, and tries to return it. "You're right. He might not even get a callback, right? I'm worrying over nothing."

They keep walking, their conversation turning to lighter topics. Peggy follows Angie past the entrance to her dorm, up the staircase and all the way to her room without thinking about it.

"Hey Peg, you wanna hand me that back?" Angie asks as she unlocks her door, nodding at the bag on Peggy's shoulder.

Peggy flushes. "Oh! I'm sorry. I was just… I suppose I assumed…"

"I didn't mean for it to be a hard question," Angie teases, as Peggy blurts:

"I had rather hoped that I might come in."

For the first time all day, Angie beams at her.

* * *

Steve's working the front desk at the library when his phone starts buzzing. He's not supposed to have it on when he's working—hell, he's not supposed to have his phone on in the library at all, technically—so he ignores the call from Peggy and lets it go to voicemail. If it's important, he figures, she'll text him.

Instead, his phone just starts buzzing again.

And again.

Worried now, he looks around for one of his coworkers, cursing to himself when none are in sight. As his phone vibrates once more, he scribbles a hasty  _back in five minutes_ sign and practically sprints to the men's bathroom.

He finally answers on the fourth ring of the sixth call.

"Can I sleep over with Angie?" Peggy says in a rush upon hearing him pick up, so quickly he doesn't even have time to ask who's died.

His brain short-circuits a little at the question, suddenly flooded with a slideshow of decidedly not safe for work images. "I—what?"

"Oh hell, that came out all wrong, I only mean to—to—darling, please, I'm  _talking,_ " Peggy moans, and Steve's pants get a little tight as he realizes Angie must be right there, using her mouth, or maybe—"With our clothes  _on,_ Steve, I promise, it's only that I never got to and…"

"I thought we agreed you didn't have to ask for permission for stuff like that. I've shared a bed with Angie before; why shouldn't you?"

"Well yes—I mean no—no,  _yes,_ but…" Her breath hitches the way it always does when someone starts sucking at her neck. "When I was in England you were always so good about letting me call the sh—the sh—the sh- _shots_."

If he doesn't get off the phone soon he's going to have an embarrassing situation on his hands. "Yeah, but the rules are different now, remember?"

"Make her hang up, Steve!" he hears Angie shout in the background. "I'm in the middle of something, here!"

"Hang up the phone, Peggy," Steve orders dutifully, sighing in relief when she drops the call.

_Not safe for work,_  indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve, Angie and Peggy finally do the do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. 
> 
> It's been a year and a half. And as good as I am at lying to myself and insisting that noooo, one day I'm totally going to finish this story for real, after being asked about it again today I have to face the fact that that's not going to happen.
> 
> While I cannot give you this story in its entirety, what I CAN do is give you this: the long-awaited sex scene.
> 
> Have fun kids.

It’s a warm day in spring when they find themselves with the opportunity of a lifetime: a weekend evening with all of them free, and Bucky busy and out of Steve’s apartment all night.

They don’t let it pass them by.

“Tell her,” Angie orders, mouth hot and wet at Steve’s neck. “Tell Peg how I found you that day of winter break.” The three of them have been making out for what feels like hours, taking advantage of being in the living room and knowing they won’t be walked in on.

“I-I was on the c-couch, like this,” he stutters into Peggy’s lips between kisses.

Angie nips at him, dissatisfied with his answer. “Tell her what you were doing.”

He whimpers. “I was—I was t-touching myself.”

Peggy moans at the admission, hand sliding down to cup Steve over his jeans. “Like this?”

He lets out a strangled noise, but manages to shake his head. “Under,” he clarifies, to which Peggy—apparently wanting to reenact the scene with utmost accuracy—unbuttons and unzips his fly, clever fingers pushing downward into undiscovered country. 

“Like this?” she asks again, swallowing his gasp of pleasure, and he nods so hard he knocks his chin into Angie’s forehead.

“Ow!” she yelps, drawing back. “Steve, you’re  _ pointy. _ ”

“S-sorry, I’m sorry, I…” Steve’s eyes are rolling back in his head; Angie decides to take pity on him. She probably wouldn’t be faring much better on the gracefulness front if Peggy’s hand were in  _ her  _ pants. 

“Don’t worry about it, honey.” She pats at his arms. “Lift up.”

“Steve,” Peggy prompts between kisses. “You haven’t finished the story. What were you thinking about, that day on the couch?” she asks as Angie works Steve’s t-shirt over his head. Angie almost feels bad for him—he doesn’t seem like he’s in any state to keep talking, but Peggy’s relentless when she knows what she wants.

Still, that doesn’t keep Angie from bending down to lave at his now-exposed chest, which doesn’t help with the babbling.

“I—you—”

“Me?” Peggy’s tone conveys a kind of dull surprise. “Only me, Steve?”

His Adam’s apple bobs. “N-no. You’n Angie, on the—in my—”

“Aw, quit teasin’ him, Peg,” Angie laughs.

Peggy grins at her “Oh, if you insist, darling. What do you think; shall we take him to bed?”

“ _ Yes, _ ” Steve grits out, apparently quite sure about that much. “Yes, take me to bed.”

Peggy withdraws her hand and the three of them climb off the couch, making their way clumsily back to Steve’s room. Angie feels a bubble of excitement build in her chest—this is it, this is  _ happening. _

“Drop trou, Rogers,” she orders, giddy. “You’ve seen me naked a dozen times; now I want you to return the favor.”

Steve, ill-versed in the art of the strip tease, eagerly kicks his jeans off only to trip over them and fall onto the bed. “Ah, fuck.”

“Y’okay?” Angie asks, sounding distracted and dazed even to her own ears. She registers distantly that he’s wearing  _ The Magic Schoolbus  _ boxers, which—why he would pick those when he was the one who wanted to do this tonight, she has no idea—but she’s a lot more interested in the way they’re tenting and pulling at him than she is in the cartoons. Her mouth goes dry, seeing how much he wants them. That’s—he’s— 

“Jeez, Angie, my eyes are up here,” he snarks playfully, only to let out a whine when Peggy crawls onto the bed with him, hands already busy.

Peggy, at least, doesn’t seem to be having any trouble keeping focus.  

The boxers are gone in moments.

“Were you planning on joining us, darling?” Peggy asks, voice sultry and teasing, and it takes several moments before Angie realizes Peggy was talking to  _ her.  _ She’s been rooted to the spot, trying to drink everything in—not sure where to look first, let alone where to touch.

“Um. Yeah,” she finally mumbles, moving hazily to the bed. She’s dreamed about this moment so many times, and now she feels drunk on the reality of it. Dazzled. She hardly dares to blink.

But then, if  _ she’s _ out of it, Steve’s nearly catatonic. He’s swaying on his knees, barely keeping up with Peggy’s hungry kisses; Angie climbs over to kneel behind him, bracing him from the back. It only takes a few moments to realize he’s started holding his breath.

“ _ Breathe,  _ Steve,” Angie prompts, then laughs, amused at the near-rhyme.

He inhales raggedly, and Angie can feel the way his chest stutter-stops around the influx of air in his lungs, can feel the way it spasms before he starts coughing.

Peggy stills, ceasing her ministrations. “Steve?”

“I’m—fine—I—” He’s wheezing now, his breathing sounding shallow and painful.

Angie strokes a hand through his hair. “Pegs, he needs his—”

“I’ll get it,” she says, suddenly businesslike, efficient. She disappears from the room.

“You know, you really should keep an extra inhaler in your bedroom,” Angie points out. 

Steve glares at her. 

“Sheesh, forget I mentioned it. Just—hang in there, okay?” she murmurs, trying to be soothing. “You’ll be fine. Anything I can do to help ‘til she gets back?”

Steve wheezes some more. “Take your,” he stops, sucking in air, and Angie tries to anticipate his request.  _ Hand off my chest? Perfumed self away from my face area?  _ “—shirt off,” he finishes, before grinning and succumbing to another coughing fit.

Angie rolls her eyes, but obliges. What? He might be a dying man. (She takes her jeans off, too, just to be safe.)

If Peggy’s thrown by the fact that Angie’s in nothing but a bra and boyshorts when she re-enters the room, she doesn’t show it. She hands the inhaler to Steve, who accepts it gratefully. After a few moments, his chest stops heaving.

“Perhaps that was enough excitement for one night,” Peggy says, laughing when she sees Steve and Angie’s identical offended looks. “Or not.”

“I'm  _ fine, _ ” Steve grumps, but it’s hard to take him seriously when he’s naked, hair messy with cowlicks and cheeks pink from exertion.

“Hold on, I have an idea,” Angie says, before leaning over to whisper in Peggy’s ear. 

Peggy grins, wickedly. “Yes, I think I would enjoy that very much.”

“What? Enjoy what?” Steve asks, clearly trying not to whine.

Angie settles herself against the pillows. “You’ll see. Here, lay back with me,” she says, patting the space between her legs.

Steve follows her directions easily enough, but sits right back up just as soon as he’d settled down. “You’ll have to take your bra off. The underwire is poking me.”

Angie bites back her smile as Peggy bursts into laughter. “You’re full of shit, Rogers,” she says, even as she reaches behind her back to undo the hooks. She catches the way he’s looking at her underwear in vague consternation. “What, do these have underwire, too?”

“…Yeeessss?”

“I don’t think threesomes are supposed to be this giggly,” she grumbles as she sheds her bottoms, as well. “Now lie back, punk.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says, curling back into her so that his head is pillowed by her chest, her lips right at his ear. “So… now what?”

“Now we breathe,” Angie says, only she’s not quite sure Steve hears her over the sounds of his own moaning as Peggy takes the length of him into her mouth. 

“Jesus!” he yelps, choking on his own spit, and Angie shushes him gently.

“I know, I know. Just breathe with me, hon.”

Down below, Peggy gently kneads Angie’s thighs with her free hand as she dedicates the rest of her attention to Steve. It’s not long before Angie’s hips start following the cant of Steve’s as she searches for friction, but she tries to ignore the need. Right now, her job is keeping her inhales and exhales deep and even, forcing him to match his breathing to hers—no matter how turned on she might get. In consolation she lets her hands wander, exploring the peaks and dips of his chest, the hollows of his collarbones, the wiry muscles of his arms before entwining her fingers with his where they dig into the sheets. “You’re doing so good, honey,” she mumbles, nuzzling the shell of his ear, pressing kisses into his hairline as sweat starts to gather at the back of his neck. Keeping herself calm, calm, as they breathe together. “So good.”

The whole ‘calming breaths’ thing gets a lot harder when the wandering fingers of Peggy’s free hand suddenly find Angie’s clit.

“Sheeeeesh,” Angie heaves out, as if not cursing will somehow help her maintain a certain level of chill. Only that makes Steve laugh, which apparently causes him to thrust a little too deeply into Peggy’s throat, which triggers the evening’s second coughing fit.

“Sorry! I’m sorry,” Steve says as Peggy rears back to try and catch her breath.

“S’fine,” Peggy rasps. “Could you—?” She gestures vaguely at Steve’s side table. He tosses her the bottle of water sitting there.

“I’m starting to think we’re not going to survive this,” Angie deadpans. “You maybe wanna focus on just one of us at a time?”

A devilish gleam lights Peggy’s eyes as she lowers the water bottle from her lips. “Is that a challenge?”

“It was  _ not,  _ but just—warn a girl, would ya?”

“Very well,” Peggy says as she caps her Evian. “Steve, Angie, I am now going to attempt to bring you both off at the same time. This is your warning. Please keep sudden movements and laughter to a minimum.”

It’s a little embarrassing, how shortly she manages to work them both back up to where they left off. 

And incredibly impressive, how good Peggy seems to be at multi-tasking.

It’s hard, now, to pretend that Angie’s providing Steve with any kind of zen—not when Peggy’s two fingers deep in her and Angie’s grinding against Steve’s ass in an attempt to get pressure where she needs it. Thank god for albuterol, because Steve still seems to be breathing normally… or at least, as normally as anyone can be expected to breathe when they have Peggy Carter’s mouth on their dick. (Angie feels like she should probably be working harder to think sexy thoughts, but even stringing two different thoughts together is a challenge at this point.)

Her orgasm, when it comes, takes her by surprise. One second she’s whimpering as she tries to match Peggy’s rhythm, the next second she’s biting into Steve’s shoulder as pleasure crashes through her, rich and overwhelming. Her teeth on his skin must push him over the edge, because Steve goes rigid as a board above her before collapsing in a boneless heap moments later, spent.

Peggy looks  _ very  _ pleased with herself, wiping at her mouth when the two of them come back to themselves enough to open their eyes.

“What’re you smiling at?” Steve huffs, trying to sound sassy as he rolls off of Angie to give them both some air. (He misses sassy and lands somewhere in the vicinity of punch-drunk.)

Peggy laughs. “Nothing, darling. Obviously.”

“She’s smug because she just realized that the rules of engagement dictate that now we have to double-team her,” Angie mumbles.

Steve curls into Angie’s side. “We do?”

“Y’know. In a minute.” She points vaguely at Peggy, still fully clothed at the foot of the bed. “Just you wait,” she vows. “Give us a sec, and then we’re gonna rock your world so hard you’ll forget english, English.”

“Looking forward to it,” Peggy quips as she moves to unbutton her blouse. “Why don’t I get the process started for you?”

“Don’t patronize us.”

“Darling, I’d never,” Peggy promises, stepping out of her skirt. “Shall I take care of my skivvies too, or did you want to do the honors?”

“Just c'mere,” Steve says at the same moment as Angie chimes, “Shut up, English, you talk too much.”

Peggy laughs and obediently crawls into the place they’ve left for her between them, chuckling when Steve reaches over to take Angie’s hand, their interlocked fingers resting loosely on Peggy’s stomach. For a minute, it looks like she’s wiped them out too thoroughly for them to do anything but talk a good game and fall asleep—they do little more than nuzzle her and kiss her neck. “Is this how you rock my world?” she teases.

“Quiet, you. We’re getting our second wind,” Angie says, nibbling Peggy’s shoulder. “Right, Steve?”

“Speak for yourself. My inhaler’s right here; I’ve got as many winds as you need,” he says, making both girls groan.

“Well, I’m ready whenever you are,” Peggy chuckles, letting herself enjoy their gentle attentions.

Angie smirks into Peggy’s skin. Step one of her plan—lulling Peggy into a sense of security—is complete. Of course, she’s not telepathic, so enacting step two is going to require actually discussing her plan with her partner in crime. “Get this off,” she says, snapping Peggy’s bra strap as she pushes herself upright. “Steve, conference.”

She watches from the corner of her eye as Peggy finishes stripping while she and Steve agree on a game plan in low tones. She’s gotta say, this is by far her new favorite thing to choreograph… even if it’s hard to stop her eyes from wandering. “God, you’re beautiful,” she says to Peggy, interrupting her own conversation with Steve without really meaning to. 

“Well?” Peggy asks, getting impatient even as her blush gives her away. “How do you want me?”

The question makes Angie’s mouth go dry. She looks to Steve, who clears his throat.

“Well, uh. First we were wondering… about the list?”

“…Oh.”

Steve, bless him, carries on. “Handcuffs were on it, which—who owns handcuffs, where do you even go to  _ buy  _ handcuffs?—anyway. Of course we’ll respect that. But would you be comfortable, do you think, if we found some other way to restrain your hands? Scarves, maybe?”

Peggy pales, and swallows hard, and that’s all the answer Angie needs. “Oh honey, forget we asked.”

“But I—”

“But nothing,” Steve says firmly. “We’ll work around it.”

Peggy huffs, mad at herself. “But I  _ want— _ ”

“In that case, we’re just going to need you to follow directions, okay?” Angie says, relieved when the color comes back to Peggy’s cheeks, her eyes getting sharper, more focused as she nods. If there’s one thing Peggy excels in, it’s discipline. “Okay. Reach up and grab the headboard, would you, hon?” Angie requests, trying not to stare too obviously at the way Peggy’s breasts stand out when she lifts her arms to wrap her fingers around the wooden rungs. “Great. That’s—that’s perfect.”

“Can I move?” Peggy asks, voice quavering slightly.

“You can do anything you want,” Steve says, lowering himself to lick a trail from her navel to her sternum. “Just don’t let go. No hands.”

“And remember,” Angie adds, “You can always say—”

“I remember,” Peggy says, voice strained as Steve starts laving at her chest. “Just, God, get your mouth on me.”

It’s an easy enough order to follow. The plan, as it stands, isn’t anything complicated—Angie’s curious to see how close they can bring her to climax without passing second base. It seems like an even enough parallel: Peggy got two of them off at the same time by focusing all her attention where it counted most. Now they’ll return the favor without touching her at all, if they can help it.

It’s already clear that Peggy’s going to be absolutely  _ painted  _ in hickeys by the time they’re through. She writhes beneath them as they kiss every inch of her, showering her in much-deserved affection. 

“You okay up there?” Steve asks when her labored breathing transitions into high-pitched, needy little noises.

“I’m—I—”

Angie does this  _ thing  _ with her tongue and her teeth; Peggy abandons any effort to finish her sentence, trailing off incoherently. Steve bursts into surprised laughter when Peggy wraps her legs around his waist without warning—trying to trick him, Angie thinks, into entering her. Which: they  _ did  _ tell her she could move, even if it feels like cheating.

“Nice try,” Steve chuckles, and Peggy actually whimpers in response. Angie finds herself suddenly distracted at the way Peggy’s biceps flex and pull as she forces herself to hold the headboard. Several ‘gun show’ jokes make their way through Angie’s head; she dismisses each in turn.

“Do you even know how gorgeous you are right now?” Angie asks instead, brushing Peggy’s sweat-soaked hair back from her face. Right now, she’s content to take a breather: let Steve do the work while she just watches Peggy move, body shifting, seeking release. Angie’s never been great at dirty talk, but then again, she’s never been quite so inspired to try. “God, look at you. You’re desperate for it.”

“Please,” Peggy moans. “Please.”

“Please what?” Angie leans down again to trail kisses across the strong line of Peggy’s jaw. “Come on, English, tell us what you want.”

Steve bites down on Peggy’s nipple, causing her to inhale sharply. “You,” she keens.

“Me, huh? Where?”

“I don’t—inside. I don’t care.  _ Anywhere. _ ”

Angie bites at her earlobe, humming thoughtfully. “I dunno. What d’you think, Steve? Too soon?”

“Yeah, not yet,” he agrees, but he’s already half hard again; Angie’s sure Peggy can feel it.

Peggy  _ growls  _ at them, which is all sorts of hilarious. “Stop tea- _ easing! _ ” she begs, but the urgency is lost a bit thanks to the way she loses the thread when they both start sucking at the creases her thighs, so tantalizingly close to where she wants them. Her hips roll helplessly, desperate for contact. “Please,” she repeats, forlorn.

Angie doesn’t have the self-control to drag this out any longer. She nudges Steve with her foot, prompting him to get off the bed, then works her way back up Peggy’s body.

“Where’s he—?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Angie says, casting Steve a sidelong glance to make sure he’s actually located the condoms in his own bedside drawer. “You’re doing amazing, you know that?”

For the first time since before Peggy left to get Steve’s inhaler, Angie kisses her full on the mouth. She tastes different from before—salty from the sweat she’s kept licking off her upper lip, and from swallowing, earlier—but Angie doesn’t mind. It’s a head rush, and Peggy kisses back eagerly, starved for satisfaction.

The way she sucks Angie’s tongue into her mouth when Steve finally slips inside her is not unwelcome, either.

“Mother of God,” Steve groans from the other end of the bed, and there’s a moment of intense envy as Angie wishes she’d given herself his job. Instead, she walks her fingers down Peggy’s side and starts stroking at her nerves, causing Peggy’s eyes to roll back as she cries out. (And if the back of Angie’s wrist sometimes brushes against Steve’s length as he thrusts, well…  _ oops. _ )

“Don’t stop,” Peggy bites out, as though worried that now that they’re finally giving her what she wants, they’ll take it away again.

“We won’t,” Angie promises, tracing her initials against Peggy’s clit. Steve grunts weakly in agreement.

“Don’tstopdon’tstop _ don’tstopdon’tstop… _ ”

They’ve worked her into such a state that it’s no time at all before Peggy’s shaking beneath them, body wracked with tremors. Steve keeps moving in her, steady and slow, until she stills, eyes closed. 

She looks absolutely  _ debauched.  _

“Peggy,” Angie whispers as Steve slips out. “Sweetheart, you can let go now.”

With painstaking effort Peggy’s hands release their death grip on his headboard, arms flopping uselessly to the pillows, still raised above her head. Angie cuddles into her side.

“How do you feel?” Steve asks, returning to the bed after disposing of the condom. He’s stroking himself lazily, seemingly more to calm down than to try and get off again.

“Amazing,” Peggy says, but between her accent and her slurred, sleepy speech, it comes out more along the lines of  _ “mmmmayzn.” _

“That’s my girl,” Angie laughs. “You were a champ.”

Peggy hums some kind of thanks as she finally finds the strength to lift her arms just long enough to wrap them around Angie’s shoulders.

Steve reaches up to turn off the lamp, and exhaustion hits Angie like a freight train the second darkness falls.

“Everyone comfy?” he asks, pulling the covers up over all of them.

In response, Angie says “peachy” and Peggy says “love you,” and sleep overtakes them all before any more can be said.

* * *

Peggy wakes up three hours later chilled and desperately thirsty.

A quick glance around her surroundings fill in the details—in his sleep, Steve has stolen all of the covers, leaving her and Angie to cling to each other for warmth. Sitting up, Peggy fumbles around in the dark looking for the water bottle from earlier, but it’s no use. Sighing, she slips out of the bed and finds the sheet they kicked off hours ago, throwing it over Angie and pulling on the closest item of clothing she can find (Angie’s blouse, which she couldn’t button even if she wanted to, but it’ll be enough should she encounter Bucky). 

She windmills her arms as she walks toward the bathroom, trying to alleviate the burn in her triceps and shoulders. Peggy doesn’t care how sexy they think she is when she does it, she is  _ never  _ holding her arms above her head that long again. …Probably.

She gasps when she flicks on the bathroom light and gets a look at herself in the mirror. Her body is a tapestry of love bites, skin mottled and bruised in her most intimate places. Peggy feels an incredible warmth build up in her chest and  _ spread _ , filling her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. She’s never felt safer or more adored in her life.

She gulps down water greedily, then fills the cup again and takes it back with her, in case anyone else should wake up and want it. When she gets back to the bedroom, she finds Steve and Angie have drifted towards each other in her absence, two separately-encased burritos seeking companionship. She rolls her eyes.

“Steve,” she intones, shaking his shoulder. “Steve, wake up.”

Of course, her talking only wakes Angie instead—she peeks one eye open, sees Peggy, then rolls over onto her stomach. “Make’m share,” she mumbles groggily.

“I’m  _ trying _ . Steve, come on.”

He finally wakes enough to release his iron grip on the blanket, shifting to throw an arm over Angie’s shoulders. Peggy distributes the covers over them equally, tucking them in before slipping into bed next to Steve, curling into his back.

The whole room smells intoxicating—filled with the heady musk of their sweat and hormones—and when Peggy tucks her nose against Steve’s neck, the scent of him lulls her into a dreamless slumber in minutes.

* * *

The sound of Steve’s two favorite voices conferring quietly above him forces him awake the next morning. He can’t make out the words in the position he’s in—sneakily, he turns his head so his good ear is no longer against the pillow, still feigning sleep.

“We should punish him,” Angie is saying, bright and mischevious. 

“For the crime of blanket-hoggery?”

“And flagrant adorableness. Look at him, just shoving it in our faces like that. It’s rude.”

“I think we rather wore him out, Ange. We should let him sleep.”

“You think he’s sleeping? You’re turning into a soft touch, Pegs.” Steve feels Angie lean down, her breath hot against his ear as she whispers: “You’re not fooling me, Rogers.”

Despite his best efforts, he can’t keep his face neutral—his lips tweak up into a smile.

“You  _ rat! _ ” Peggy cries, offended. “You’re absolutely right, Angie; we should punish him immediately.” 

A loud thumping on the wall puts an end to their banter. “Jesus Christ,” Bucky hollers from the next room. “Can you guys stop having sex for like five minutes? Some of us are still trying to sleep. God _damn._ ”

They last three seconds before breaking into hysterical laughter.

“Sorry, James!”

“We love you, Bucky!”

“Mind your own damn business, Buck!”

He thumps the wall again.

**Author's Note:**

> No idea when this will next be updated, but we've got this loosely blocked out until the end of their year.
> 
> Expect the rating to go up, as we move further into their semester.


End file.
